


The Why And Wherefore

by stuffwelike



Category: Dark City (1998)
Genre: Future Fic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffwelike/pseuds/stuffwelike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Murdoch, living in a new world of his own creation, discovers that things which should not be changed lead to new beginnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Why And Wherefore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [epkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/gifts).



The city had weather now, as well as days and nights.

It had started out with a disconcerting sympathy to John's moods, and since those changed, like those of all people, with a reasonable frequency as the day progressed, the inhabitants spent a bewildering few weeks where torrential rain with more than a hint of ice to it first thing in the morning could have given way to a sudden inexplicable heatwave by the end of the day, when John might not be able to change the rotation of his new-old, first-created sun, but he could damn well express his satisfaction at the fact that the day _was_ over, and he refused as a matter of pride to work when it was dark.

Pride, and something more.

Years of starting again, years that he could not remember, years of ignorance and perhaps happiness and perhaps sorrow, all lost to the night.

Now he intended to use the nights for sleep, for a different kind of renewal that would come with the first glimmers of day, for the time to store and assimilate memory rather than to work towards its obliteration.

For sleep — and for Anna. Anna who was like and nothing like Emma, Anna who had such joy in her, such an uninhibited love of life, who had never been forced to work for bottom rates in a nightclub or use her looks as her one defence or conceal her intelligence; Anna who loved her job and lived in the light and could dance better than anyone John had ever met (although he conceded that might narrow the list considerably, in reality); Anna who could out-drink most men and walk straight at the end of it; who worked at a museum that had never existed before the morning she woke, and loved that too. Anna who could not sing, even though she loved to do so as she walked along the pier or in the shower.

Anna, goddess excellently bright.

Anna whom John could not love, because none of it, none of it could compare to the moment his wife Emma had raised her hand to the glass, longing to touch him — and the barrier had shattered between them.

It was all a trick, a mind trick, and seemingly the largest portion of it was simply on himself. He had fought hard for memories and now it was those selfsame memories that were keeping him from being happy with what was, essentially, the perfect woman. Perfect, but not Emma.

So now the very question was, what did he do next? He couldn't make Anna into Emma, nor could he turn back the hands of time to the moment when she was. His dilemma was as perfect as Anna.

He could have forced Anna, alone among the city's residents, to begin her life anew, could have warped her patterns of thought and behaviour and her store of past knowledge to be those of Emma, John's beloved wife.

He could have everything he wanted and become everything he hated most, and then he would deserve neither of them.

But he was made to love Anna. His distorted, blurry memories told him so, for even though he knew it had not been a real rose he bought from Daniel to give to her, it was a clear and ever-present image, just as the love he had felt at the moment of handing it to her blazed through him like wildfire at times, obliterating everything he knew to be true with a searing, impossible emotion.

For that emotion had not been truly given to her.

It had been Emma's, it had all been Emma's, his mind had fixed upon Emma and his love for her so that all Dr. Schreber's (not Daniel's, that man had been as far from Daniel as John was from the John Murdoch of Before) implanted memories were forced to incorporate her into his emerging being.

Emma, who had loved him and in the end believed in him when all the world told her she should not; Emma who had given him love and impossible faith and the will to continue.

Emma, who had lived with him in an fiendish illusion, and loved him even past that illusion, just as within it she had loved him past poverty and accusations of murder and all that had been done to convince her she should not trust him.

And John did not want to create that.

He wanted it to be real.

**

"John. It is... so pleasant to see you." Doctor Schreber's soft whispery voice greeted him as he entered his office.

"I hope I haven't interrupted your day, Daniel." John said sincerely, taking the other man's hand in his for a greeting. Daniel had gone back to his original profession, psychiatry, and considering the odd bits of mixed up half-memories that some people seemed to have after the downfall of their... hosts... his practice was thriving.

It was an odd friendship, and not one John was always comfortable with — he didn't know whether the notion of co-dependency was one he had known about Before, or one that had somehow seeped through to him via Daniel's manipulations, but he was fairly sure their continued connection sometimes verged on just that.

But Daniel, alone in the City, knew not only what he was now, but what and who he had been, and what had driven him to finally gain the courage to take action.

John could not imagine a life without that unqualified and unconditional acceptance in it.

"Your visits are... never an interruption," came the almost shy answer.

"Oh," John said, feigning disappointment. "You mean I have to try harder? But I want _aaaaall_ your attention. Right now. Consider yourself thoroughly interrupted. I was being polite, but since you're determined to go one better than me even in being polite, I'll just have to —"

He stopped once he was quite, quite sure Daniel was genuinely laughing at him, rather than just irritated. If there was one thing John would have gladly changed, and not considered it an imposition or a violation comparable to those of the Strangers, he would have healed Daniel's lungs, straightened the twisted sinews and badly healed, malformed bones of his leg, made him whole.

But Daniel had asked him not, because John had known this was the one man to whom he could do nothing without permission, and John, regretting his foolhardiness in saying anything, accepted that incomprehensible decision of his, because —

Because —

That was what a man did, for a friend. And John, no matter what his powers might be, had vowed he would never lose sight of the fact that above all else, above everything else, he had the capacity to be a good man _as well_ as one who could change the world on a whim.

Anna and Daniel, the impossible paradoxes of his life, the things he longed to change and the things he never would or could.

One and the same, each time.

"All right then," Daniel continued, his lips turned up in a quiet smile, "your visit is a terrible imposition, causing me to lose... untold wealth and disrupting a dozen patients... due to your selfish demands. Are you... happy now?"

"Ecstatic." John replied. For all he knew, he actually had completely disrupted Daniel's schedule, but he would have been greeted just the same if it were true.

"Have a seat then... my happy friend... and tell me why you've come to see me." Daniel gestured toward his couch and then moved to sit there himself.

"I don't control the weather any more," John blurted out, and immediately leant forward in agitated dismay. "Damn, that came out like I want to, I don't. It's lovely not to. I mean I could, I could give us snow in June if I felt like it, but we've got seasons and climate and all that stuff and I don't need to do anything. And I need to know — is everything going to be like that? Is there going to come a time when I'm not needed? When I can —"

"Be forgotten? John... no-one will... forget you."

"I don't care if they do," John said impatiently, because it wasn't about that. "Maybe it's better, anyway, maybe they should have that freedom, I think they should. No, I meant — when everything's like the weather, what — what am I supposed to do?"

"I would suppose... anything you want to do." Daniel smiled slightly. "That is what most people live for. Wouldn't that... be relaxing?"

"I'm not sure I want to be that relaxed." John ran his fingers through his hair. "I rather think that being relaxed is what got us into this all in the first place."

"You don't think..." Daniel leaned closer to him, as if trying to choose his next words, "... that our hosts will return?"

"No... Yes... Shit, I don't know." John answered honestly. "I just want to be prepared... in case. No one should have to go through that all alone. You shouldn't have had to."

"I think I... might have preferred... solitude," Daniel said, and John snorted.

"Don't make jokes, Dr. Schreber, it's a sign of the apocalypse, and I'm pretty sure I didn't order one up for today."

"Are you... positive?"

"Augh. Stop. It's painful." But John was laughing, in spite of himself. "All right. All right, I admit it, I'm being ridiculous. And self-aggrandising. I'm not that important, I get it."

"I think the trouble is... you are. And... you hate it."

"Daniel," John said warningly, "I came here to talk to my friend, because I'm tired and morose and yes, a little bit self-pitying, and I could do with a few hours of not having to put a good face on things. Please don't analyse me."

Daniel held up his hands in a sign for peace. "Habit. Forgive me."

"Always." John smirked. He wondered, once again, if he and Daniel had known each other... Before. If they _had_ been friends, or if they even _would_ have been friends if they'd met. God, his life was a complete conundrum, or possibly some kind of demented chess game with half of the pieces gone.

But, no matter what the past held or hid, Daniel was his friend now, and that was the important thing, wasn't it? It was easy and honest and far more comfortable than his evenings spent with the bright spark that was Anna.

Knowing that, however, didn't stop him thinking, briefly and wistfully, about how wonderful it would be to be able to simply drag Daniel out of his office for a long walk and fresh air and all the things that he was sure good men were supposed to provide for their stuffy, cooped-up, science-obsessed friends, and not know that instead of a well-deserved break, the whole experience would be a source of very real and literal pain for him.

John had Anna, who glowed with joy at her life, and he had Daniel, who knew the truth about him and accepted it, and he had power unlimited and a brave new world to explore it in.

And nothing, he realised suddenly, that he actually wanted.

Nothing at all.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"What's wrong... really?" Daniel looked at him sharply. "You didn't just come here to trade quips with me... and tell me about the weather."

John looked down at his hands and gave a short dry huff of laughter, "I'm a self-centered, selfish bastard."

"Well, of course... you are," Daniel agreed. "If you hadn't been... you would not be as good... at what you do. Creation requires a... certain amount of... self-centeredness."

"Thank you," John said dryly. "I think."

"All part... of the service," Daniel said with a flourishing gesture at his glass door and the mirror-writing on it that proclaimed his profession to the passing world outside.

"Yeah, yeah," John grumbled, feeling oddly easier in his mind. "Come for dinner. Come tonight, come to my house, come for dinner."

"John. We have... discussed this. I am not... comfortable with..." The pause this time was more of a trailing off, but John could easily fill in the gap.

 _With Anna._

 _Nor am I, Daniel,_ he thought sadly. _But we do the best we can with what we have, and I might be self-centred, but I'm working on being a good enough man not to do that to you, or her._

"Anna won't be there, she's got some museum thing, and she's staying with her friend tonight, she wants 'girl time', and oh boy, do I not want to question that one. So I'll be all on my own. And lonely. And bereft. And —"

"Good God, shut... up."

"Pleeease?" John widened his eyes. "With extra vowels? Please? Please please please?"

"Fine. If... you go away now. And let me... do some work."

"Yes!" The word was both an agreement and an exultation.

"Seven then?"

"Seven? Oh, yes." John agreed. "It's a date... or not a date really but seven will be perfect."

Wonderful, he was babbling, but he was so happy that Daniel had agreed and that he'd get the man out of his stuffy office and away from his stuffy lab and... into his stuffy house. Not that it was stuffy. But it was a house, and it was inherently indoors by being a house, and therefore — stuffy.

John had to laugh at his own idiocy, even while he realised that Daniel always managed to make him get over himself, somehow, and had succeeded yet again.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Please... don't cook. It doesn't go... well with creativity."

"Fuck off," John said, master of the verbal riposte, and exited to Daniel's breathy laughter.

**

Dinner was Italian. Spaghetti that he fixed himself in spite of Daniel's request, because even he could boil water for noodles and follow a simple recipe. It wasn't half bad when it was done, even if he did say so himself.

He wondered if he'd have been able to 'fix' it if it had come out horrible, but that was another avenue that he never wanted to travel.

He had rather odd images of hybrid food that looked like one thing and tasted like another, or something entirely created and wholly fake, which he thought he had probably been subsisting on before everything had gone so abruptly to hell.

Thinking about that didn't lead anywhere good, and he closed his mind off from pursuing that supposition to its natural end — _so what was I eating?_ — before he lost his appetite for good and all.

Tuning wasn't magic. He could bring snow in June because there was an atmosphere, not because he imagined the snow and there it was. Trying to resuscitate a ruined meal would involve manipulating far too many things on too many levels for it to be possible. To suddenly produce strawberries in December would involve a strange warm spell in the preceding months.

He supposed he could localise it, but still. Planning, somewhere, would have been required.

With all the power imaginable at his disposal, he had to be more thoughtful and less reliant on spontaneity than he ever had before.

Of course, he could always just build a greenhouse...

And he was quite possibly losing what remained of his mind, because he didn't even want any damn strawberries.

Thank God the doorbell rang just at that moment and somewhere between thoughts of greenhouses and mutated alien strawbananas, John got up to answer it.

"Good evening... John." Daniel handed him a bottle of wine as he came in the door.

"Hello. Come in, come in." That was Daniel, formal without being stiff somehow. He took his coat and waved him toward the living room.

"You cooked," Daniel said as he went through, and John made a face at his back.

"I managed not to burn water, and I'm pretty sure I got the herbs rather than the hemlock, yeah," he said.

"Do we have hemlock?" Daniel sounded intrigued, and John rolled his eyes up to the ceiling.

"I have no idea, Daniel, I created an eco-system, not every individual plant, but if you really want some hemlock, I'm sure I can — sit down, for God's sake — find some for you."

Daniel sat, "Oh, not... necessary. I could think of... a few other plants that might be more useful... for my purposes. I'll give you a list."

"Of course you will." John chuckled. Daniel's single-mindedness could be so amusing. John was only half-sure, half of the time if the man were only half-joking or serious.

"It will be... extensive," Daniel said warningly, and John grinned at him.

"Oh, I'm counting on it. You know how much I love challenges. Name your poison and I will provide."

Daniel ducked his head and shook with quiet laughter. "You are a... terrible man, John Murdoch."

"Compliments will get you everywhere," John said, trying to sound serene and failing dismally, unable as he was to stop smiling. "Oh, speaking of, watch this."

He concentrated on the wine bottle, and drew the cork.

Without a corkscrew.

"I'm thinking of calling it _fine_ -tuning," he said, suppressing laughter, and considered himself justly repaid when Daniel groaned and looked for something to throw at him.

He loved teasing Daniel, mostly because Daniel understood him in a way that no one else could or would. Shared experience was a powerful attractant.

"Come on, get comfortable and come help me in the kitchen." John had his own suit coat off, his sleeves rolled up the elbows to keep his shirt sauce free while cooking.

"So that I can ensure... that you don't choose hemlock?" Daniel hesitated over removing his jacket, but he finally did, hanging it over the back of a chair and smoothing it out to prevent wrinkles.

"Or to set the table?"

"With tuning-forks?" Daniel asked sweetly, and it was John's turn to groan.

"God, Daniel, if I'm terrible, you're worse, which shouldn't be possible. And yet."

"Ta-da," Daniel agreed, holding his arms out like a circus ringmaster.

It was also possible that John loved being teased _by_ Daniel even more. It had taken him a while to get used to the fact that while he felt resentment for having his memories shuffled through and altered like a mad Tarot pack, Daniel took it completely for granted — _all_ of it, including his role and the subsequent residue of associated bad feeling — and didn't even feel mild annoyance at the way John's first action had been to go off chasing Emma — or rather Anna — without even bothering to make sure he was all right.

Daniel's appalling jokes at his expense went a long, long way towards assuaging the guilt he still felt over that one.

They were soon settled at the table, eating sloppy spaghetti and drinking far too much red wine and laughing at each other as they both wound up tucking napkins under their chins to keep sauce off of their shirts. It was more silliness than John had enjoyed in weeks. There was no pressure to keep each other entertained, just warmth and laughter.

Afterwards, they did the dishes together, John washing while Daniel dried and somehow, that was just as enjoyable as dinner. They talked about what Daniel was working on in his laboratory and the small changes that John had made to the city to make things run more smoothly, like adding more stoplights and school crossings. Normally, after dinner, Anna chased him out of the kitchen and he sat alone... reading the newspaper or listening to the radio — two things that always made him feel lonely for some reason.

Lonely and old, and Daniel's company reminded him he was neither.

"Daniel?"

"Oh God. I... hate that tone... of voice. It means questions."

"Just one," John said, and took a deep breath. "Should I ask Anna to marry me?"

There was a slightly too-long pause, and then Daniel asked carefully, "Do you want her... to say yes?"

They stared at each other, and then John said, quiet and precise, "No."

"That's... your answer."

"Yeah," John breathed, and put his head in his hands. "Yeah, I guess it is. But —"

"John. Whatever... you are thinking. It would be worse. To live... a lie. For both of you. Worse."

"I know. I know. But Daniel —"

"I think... there is a time... when you should stop being... .grateful for what you... have. Gratitude is all very... well. But it... corrodes. Eventually, it corrodes. I think perhaps... you should ask her... what she _wants_."

And maybe that was part of the real problem, he had no idea what Anna wanted. If she were still Emma he'd have the answer immediately, but if she were Emma, he wouldn't have had to ask in the first place.

John gave a small tight nod, then looked back at Daniel, "And what do you want, Daniel?"

There was a small pause and then, "So very many things, John. So very many."

"Yeah," John said eventually, because there were some things he couldn't ask, even when it was Daniel, even when he knew he would be answered — because it was quite clear that Daniel didn't want to be asked and didn't _want_ to answer. "Yeah, me too."

He looked up, and even managed a smile, but all the easy give-and-take had gone from the room, and he was not surprised when Daniel made his excuses and left, shortly afterwards.

 _So very many things._

And damn him, he hadn't asked John for a single one of them.

**

He was awake and drinking coffee out in the garden when Anna came back, enjoying the early sunlight and the faint scent of grasses and plants that blew around as the greenery warmed though and the dew evaporated.

"Mmm, hello, Nature Boy," she said teasingly, and kissed the back of his neck.

"And good morning to you," he gave her a smile. "Have a good 'girl time'?"

"Yes." She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down next to him. "We giggled and complained about men, had too much to drink... and I fell asleep on Bethany's couch."

"Just the usual then?"

"Yes, pretty much," Anna smiled, showing her dimples.

"I think we need to have a talk."

She froze for a moment, her coffee cup half-way to her lips, "Oh, my... that's never the beginning of a pleasant conversation."

"Yeah. No." John sighed. "I don't know. I — Daniel came over for dinner last night."

With anyone else, that would have provoked a blank look. Anna set her cup down on the ground very carefully, and gave her concentration over to him completely.

"Oh," she said. "And —"

"He told me — no, I asked — Anna, I realised last night. I've never asked you, have I? I've never just asked you — what do you want?"

"From you? John, I don't think I've exactly made demands —"

"No! God, no, Anna, you haven't and that's not what — no, just no. I mean — what do you _want_? What do you want in life?"

"I could use a new dress and a pair of silk pumps." She tried to make it a joke, but seemed to realize immediately that he was serious. "I don't know, John. I have a job I like, and good friends, and you, and everything is... nice."

"But is nice enough? Really enough?" John was aware that he sounded almost desperate.

"It's—" She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts, "Oh, John, I'm happy enough, if that's what you're asking. I'm not delirious or anything... but people just aren't, are they?"

"Do you love me?"

" _What_?"

"Do you love me?"

Anna opened her mouth, and then closed it, frowning. "Yes..." she said slowly, "and no. Oh. I hadn't —"

"Yeah," John said, feeling a bit tired. "Yeah, nor did I."

"I mean, I love you, of course I love you, you're gorgeous and kind and funny and you're _honest_ , John, which isn't something most people are, to be fair, and we're good together in all the right ways, but — but I don't think I _do_ love you. Not like that." She laughed, but it sounded more surprised than anything. "And I didn't even realise until you asked me."

John nodded, "I didn't think so."

"It's nothing you've done, John, or haven't done."

"I know that too," he gave her a smile. "I think I was just hoping for something else. You know what a dreamer I am."

He stood up and turned toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Just out. I'll find somewhere else to stay if you want the apartment. We don't have to make it a fuss."

Anna just shook her head, then moved to kiss him, "If it helps at all, I wish I did love you. You're such a good man."

A good man... but not _the_ good man, not for Anna. Things were changed, had changed, were still changing, and he couldn't stop them and he couldn't change them back. All he could do was move forward.

"John?"

"Yeah," he said heavily. It wasn't heartbreak that he felt, it was resignation — but it wasn't any more pleasant for that.

"You — deserve better than this. And you know what — you can have it. If you want. You can have somewhere better to live. You can have someone who — you can have — you can have what _you_ want. Without changing the world to get it. I think maybe someone needs to tell you that."

John looked at her then, looked at her properly for the first time in a long while, took in her dark hair and the small freckles on her nose and her wise eyes; the mouth that was made for laughing and for love and the beautiful pale skin that never really tanned; the fine veins beneath it that beat out her life's rhythm.

It was a final look, it was a farewell look, and somehow it didn't hurt.

"I think they just did," he said softly.

**

John had been welcomed into Daniel's office without a question. He wondered if Daniel were between patients or had simply left word that he was always welcome.

"John?" Daniel looked worried. John hated seeing that look on his face, it reminded him far too much of earlier days, days when neither one of them felt safe. "Twice in two days? To what do I... owe the pleasure?"

"Anna," John said very dryly, "turned the tables on me."

"She... asked _you_ to marry... _her_?"

"Witty man. No, as it happens, she didn't. I took your advice."

"Should I... apologise?"

"No, you should damn well not apologise, Daniel, even if it had been a fuckcluster of a result, you should not apologise, because I should have asked her what she wanted a long time ago. As it happens, it's not me. _Also_ as it happens, she decided it was time someone pointed out to me that I should at least try to get what I want without thinking I have to resort to changing the whole damn world."

"Oh?" Daniel's voice was even breathier than normal, as if he were holding it all in.

"Yes."

"And what is it that you want, John? Do you know?"

"Well, I know what I don't want," John began, moving closer to Daniel as he spoke. "I don't want Anna, who's just a pretend Emma and who doesn't and can't love me, even though she wanted to. I don't want to control the weather and I don't want any mutant strawberries. I also don't want to change the whole damn world."

Daniel's eyes were shifting from side to side, almost as if he were preparing to run. John knew he sounded a bit crazy, but somehow he couldn't do this any other way.

"But I do want to get better at cooking, and I think I would build a greenhouse if you made that list, because you don't want a new ecosystem for everyone, so it would have to be a small one, a self-contained one, and I don't know why I never thought of that sort of thing before. And I get that you don't want to forget, and Daniel, it's no damn business of mine if you choose to limp to the end of your days — but I want that end to be a long way off, and I am _going_ to fix your lungs, get over it and accept it. I want you in my life, any way you want to be there, that's fine with me. As long as you're _there_ , and — you have to be there. I worked it out, you see. Yeah, I want other things, too, don't we all, I could fill a book, but they're extra, I can do without. It's you. That's what I want. Just you. With me."

Daniel blinked. Twice. "I believe, John... that that's the most... I have ever heard you say all at once."

"But what do you think about it?" John should have known he wouldn't get a direct answer all at once: Daniel had far too much experience in deferral and distraction for this to go too easily.

"I think... I think that would be an excellent idea."

"What part?"

Daniel's answer was just a touch tentative, as if he wasn't certain that John was speaking the truth, "All of it?"

"Okay," John said, heading rapidly past being thrilled into total confusion, "but Daniel, I kind of just gave you an open ticket, here. So you might like to be specific, because that could mean anything."

Daniel's expression was well past tentative and on the road to outright panic.

" _Daniel_ ," John repeated, less than patiently.

"All of what you said," Daniel said on a single breath. "Yes. And yes. Because... it's not extra, is it. If that's... what I want too?"

"Oh, God, Daniel..." John laughed out his relief, "it's not as if I'm going to charge you for it."

"Are you... good enough... to deserve payment?" Daniel asked, his head tilted to one side.

"Am I—?" John's eyes flashed to Daniel's face just in time to catch the mischievous twitch of his lips.

"I just thought I should... make sure."

"Yeah," John said roughly, because he couldn't joke, not any more, not when he felt this much hope at there being something that could be not only new, but _his_ , for the first time in so long. "Yeah, Daniel, I am. And if not — I'm trying to be, and that has to count..."

Daniel stepped closer and put a gentle hand on the back of John's neck. "Practice... makes perfect," he whispered, and drew John down for a kiss.

And the world, all of its own volition, reset to a new start.


End file.
